


Three Conversations

by marzipanpie



Series: Forget-Me-Nots [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: (the actual real first meetings this time), F/M, First Meetings, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzipanpie/pseuds/marzipanpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first three conversations Cole and Laura had, which Laura promptly forgot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Remember those three times Laura and Cole spoke in the [first chapter of Forget-Me-Nots](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6384733/chapters/14621050) ? Yeah neither does Laura. But here they are!

A small group of Leliana’s spies were returning from Orlais. Cole watched them walk wearily through the gates of Skyhold, carrying nothing but a few bags to each person. One of them was limping, and another one took him over to the Healers. Cole could hear them from where he sat, all the way up on the high walls of Skyhold. None of them had failed. But one of them hurt so loudly it reach up to him and beyond. He went down to them, lingering behind a tree in the courtyard, seeking out the hurt.

He found it surrounding the last spy to walk through the gates. She was readjusting her bag, and staring at the ground. She was covered in blood and dirt. Her tattered clothes, her tangled brown hair, her pallid skin; all of it was covered in blood and dirt. She stopped walking, and waved off one of the other spies who noticed and looked at her. Cole watched as she looked up at the sky, squinting against the sun.

There were pictures in her head, replaying over and over again. Her and another girl, a young girl, fighting against Orlesian guards. Arrows flew past her and landed against the stone walls and floor with clicks and clacks, heavy grunts filling the air. A guard had a knife at her throat, but she had had hundreds of knives at her throat and she knew she could get out of this.

And the girl screamed. The girl, younger than she had been, smaller too, screamed and fell forward, the arrow lodged in her chest snapping between her and the floor. She had only seen it out the corner of her eye, hadn’t really been sure it had happened.

She escaped the knife, and killed the guard. And killed the last two guards after him. And she’d run to the tiny girl. But she was already dead.

She felt guilty.

Cole walked towards her, and she didn’t realise, so caught up in looking at the sun.

“She died and you didn’t help her,” he said. The girl jumped, and looked at him with tired eyes. Her left eyes was circled in blood, as if she had rubbed it with bloody fingertips. “She died but you _couldn_ ’t have helped her. You couldn’t have controlled the arrow.” The girl blinked at him. He could feel her, tired and confused and guilty. “You thought you were prepared for people dying. You _always_ think you’re prepared, but you always feel guilty when they do. You didn’t know she would die. You couldn’t stop it. You feel guilty but you shouldn’t, because there was nothing you could have done.”

The girl watched him for a moment longer, and bought a hand up to rub at her bloodstained eye. Some of the blood peeled away, tiny specks fluttering down her face onto the ground.

“I know,” she finally said. Her voice was frail and horse. Afraid of leaving her throat, but thankful that it did. “I know.”

Cole held out his hand, and watched as her head tilted in confusion, before he said “Forget,” and left.

* * *

 

The Herald’s Rest was always full of pain. People drank because they thought the alcohol killed their sorrows, but it only made them stronger. But there were people who were happy there too, using the alcohol to strengthen their happiness. Cole often spent his evenings sitting above the tavern, listening the emotions, trying to separate them out and feel each one individually, so he would know where to begin.

The Inquisitor came to see him. He was glad about that. She offered him company while he worked in the tavern.

He flitted around the patrons. The barman who lost his wife. The solider who almost died. The servant who wasn’t quite sure what was wrong.

He felt a familiar hurt from a familiar person, and turned to look at Leliana’s spy. She was clean, now. Her skin almost pallid in the dark room, her hair pulled away from her face, and dark shadows under her eyes. She was picking at a plate of bread. He appeared in front of her, and tilted his head to the side.

“You still feel guilty, but you know why now,” he said, fiddling with his gloves, “You know you shouldn’t be. You’ve done this before, and you’ll do it again. But this is the quickest you’ve ever realised. I’m glad I helped.”

She was looking at him, dazed and confused, as if she couldn’t quite figure out if she recognised him or not. Cole furrowed his brow, and held out his hand. “I’m sorry. Forget.”

* * *

 

He saw her again in the gardens. He looked away from a cloister sister, and saw her siting on a stone bench. She was watching him. He couldn’t feel any pain from her. He didn’t usually see the same people so often if they didn’t need him.

“Are you… watching me?” he asked, as he appeared next to her. She jumped and looked up, and he flinched as he felt her fear strike through her stomach.

“I… I’ve seen you… before,” she said, fiddling with the paper she was holding. She folded a corner over, and then straightened it out again. Cole looked at the floor, and held out his hand.

“Yes,” he said, and then, “Forget.”

* * *

 

She was watching him. He could feel someone watching him as he helped in the courtyard. It wasn’t like feeling pain. Pain didn’t come from him. But this did. He could feel it on the back of his neck and down his spine, as if someone was dragging the echo of a needle down his bones.

He looked up and saw her, sitting on the high wall of Skyhold. He focused on her, and felt confusion and irritation. He blinked, and went to her.

* * *

 

“Don’t make me forget this conversation.” She asked, when they stopped talking.

Cole blinked, and looked at their hands. His was pulled back, fingers curled to escape her grasp. Hers were held straight, flat, as if she could keep him there simply by touching the air. He frowned.

“Why?”

She pursed her lips, thinking. He tilted his head, thinking. She wanted to remember him? People didn’t usually want to remember him.

“Because Leliana wants to know if you’re safe. And I can’t tell her you are if I don’t remember ever talking to you.” She answered, and she smiled at him. And then she said, “And, I _want_ to remember this conversation.”

Cole let his hand fall to the stone next to his leg. She was still smiling at him.

He could still make her forget. Forget they ever spoke, and forget she ever asked to remember. That she asked to remember _him_.

But forgetting him might hurt. She wanted to remember to tell Leliana, and she got scared when she couldn’t tell Leliana the things she wanted to know.

He wasn't quite sure if he specifically decided to let her remember, but he disappeared anyway, wondering how you could decide something without realising it.


End file.
